


Gestures

by laireshi



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: 616 Day, Avengers Vol. 4 (2010), Commander Rogers, First Kiss, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 04:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: Tony let the open tie hang around his neck, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and Steve stared, for a second imagining holding him by that tie and pulling him closer and licking a line down Tony’s long, elegant neck—Damn him.





	Gestures

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the entirety of this fic on faite as it is in fact 100% her fault as you can see [here in her art post](http://hellogarbagetime.tumblr.com/post/174949256549/gestures-by-laireshi-1855-words-t-tony-let-the). GO LOOK, IT'S LOVELY.
> 
> Steve holding Tony's neck is canon, just saying (Avengers v. 4 #18, which you can also see in the art post!).
> 
> HAPPY 616 DAY (even if it's 16.06 really).
> 
> Also a fill for the "learning to be loved" square on my stony bingo card.

I.

“You wanted to see me?” Tony’s voice sounded strangely out of character, quiet like an exhale. 

The answer, a cutting _Yeah, five hours ago_ , died on Steve’s tongue as he looked up from his documents and took Tony in: pale, obviously exhausted, looking as if he came here straight from a business meeting in a fitted suit that hugged his body just a bit too closely. He looked impossibly out of place in the helicarrier and, not for the first time, Steve wondered how Tony could’ve ever actually _led_ SHIELD.

Tony shrugged out of the suit jacket and Steve let himself be distracted by the line of his shoulders in the dark red shirt, the way it contrasted against his skin.

“Steve?” Tony asked and Steve realised he hadn’t said anything to him yet.

“Yeah,” he said. He stood up and circled his desk, not wanting the physical barrier between them. 

(As if he could touch Tony the way he wanted to anyway.)

“Close the door,” he said, and after Tony did, he added, “The Gems.”

Tony sighed heavily. “Again?”

“We had all of one conversation about them since you stopped lying,” Steve said sharply. It was still a fresh hurt, another sign that Tony didn’t trust Steve like Steve trusted Tony, and a quiet voice deep down in him said, _SHRA, the Infinity Gems, the conveniently deleted memories of all the sins he’d committed recently—what else was he hiding?_

“Is this the _you’re still out of the team_ talk?” Tony asked. He raised his chin and he was looking straight at Steve, as if he would ever actually argue for _his own_ benefit.

Infuriating, wonderful man.

“You’re not off the team,” Steve said. He almost said, _I’m sorry_ , too, but he was still annoyed and Tony still _had_ lied for years to him.

“Oh,” Tony said. He looked around, then raised his hands and opened his tie, such a telling gesture that Steve knew he normally didn’t let himself make when opposing someone. It was good to see he relaxed just a fraction. 

He let the open tie hang around his neck, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and Steve stared, for a second imagining holding him by that tie and pulling him closer and licking a line down Tony’s long, elegant neck—

 _Damn him_.

Steve coughed, suddenly very aware he’d left the safety of his desk and was standing in front of Tony in a tight body suit. He did his absolute best to stay still, keep Tony’s eyes on his face.

 _The Illuminati_ , he told himself firmly. “Are you _sure_ you can’t find a method to destroy the Gems?”

“You heard Reed,” Tony said.

“I’m not asking Reed,” Steve said. “I’m asking you, here, alone.”

(He wanted to be doing different things to Tony when there were not witnesses around them.)

“I’m sure,” Tony said. “And that’s why we—that’s why _I_ need you. To say when it’s okay to use them. To make sure—god, Steve, I thought it was necessary but _I hated_ lying to you.”

It was scary, the things Tony did when he thought he had to.

It was maybe scarier still that Steve already found himself trusting him again.

Steve shifted his weight on his feet, and Tony slid his eyes down Steve’s body, and _oh no_. 

Tony’s eyes widened slightly, and Steve hoped he was too well-mannered to comment, but then Tony licked his lips, as if unconsciously, his eyes growing darker.

He looked back up immediately, and said, “I, ah—” and Steve shook his head. He beckoned him closer with one hand, not thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, all the ways they’d ruined each other already and could still shatter what little was left between them.

Tony froze, for a moment, as if trapped in time, and then he went to Steve, dropping his suit jacket, crossing the space between them in two steps. Steve’s hand was still raised, and once Tony was close enough, he put it on his shoulder, slid it behind to the nape of his neck.

Tony tensed, but he didn’t shrug Steve’s hand off.

Their eyes locked, a silent conversation that they probably should’ve actually spoken out loud passing between them, and Steve hoped they understood each other here as well as on the battlefield.

He pulled Tony in and kissed him.

He kept his hand on Tony’s neck, careful to let him go if Tony made any sign like he wanted to, but otherwise keeping him in place. When Tony kissed him back, aggressively, as if this was a sparring, Steve squeezed it in warning, once, amazed when Tony actually listened and turned pliant. 

It was heady having Tony Stark like this.

Tony made a small little sound and Steve almost growled in response, all of his thought process focused on Tony.

“Steve,” just a sigh.

He turned them around, kept Tony close with one hand as he reached with his other to haphazardly swipe everything off his desk.

“Commander,” Tony said, raising his eyebrows, and then Steve set him on the table, captured his mouth in a kiss again.

He never even got Tony’s shirt all the way off that day.

II.

Their home was in ruins.

Steve looked to Tony and corrected himself, _No, the tower was in ruins_. _His home was at Tony’s side, no matter where that happened to be._

Tony looked shaken and frail, standing next to the mess of stones and glass and metal that remained of his beloved building, surrounded by parts of Iron Man armours strewn around. 

He wasn’t in his suit at the moment, just black pants and a shirt. Steve _knew_ he always had the armour on him these days, right in his bones, but it didn’t make him feel better. He stepped closer, both to offer comfort and to be able to protect Tony, just in case.

But Tony needed protection mostly from himself, and Steve had never been able to provide that.

Because the worst thing right now wasn’t that the Tower was destroyed. No. It was that Tony stood here, in the midst of his hopes and dreams turned to dust, and said he wouldn’t rebuild it. It was _Tony Stark_. He _always_ rebuilt. It was what he did. This, here, was wrong.

“Tony,” Steve said.

“I can’t,” Tony said, but he did stand up. “It’s a sign. Let’s let it lie.”

“ _Absolutely not_ ,” said Steve. Tony seemed surprised, but Steve just kept talking. “You wanted to rebuild Asgard as a statement. That goes _double_ for our own home.”

Tony blinked, slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Steve said, relieved, and then he looked closer.

Tony would do it. But he clearly still wasn’t convinced.

Steve was close enough to touch him, now, and he did, reaching out to put his hand, still in his red Captain America gauntlet, on Tony’s elbow, slowly sliding it up, to his shoulder and finally to his neck, letting Tony slowly relax into his touch. 

Tony didn’t like to admit it, but it clearly calmed him when Steve held him like that. 

“It will be okay,” he said, soothingly. “ _We_ will be okay.”

Tony’s eyes fluttered closed.

“You’re Iron Man,” Steve said. “You always get back up. You rebuild and you do it better.”

“I’m scared,” Tony let out. 

“I’m here,” Steve said, stroking his fingers on the back of Tony’s neck. “You’re not doing this alone. I love you.”

Tony tensed back under his hand, because no matter how many times Steve said the words, he never quite seemed to believe him. It was okay, though: Steve would repeat it as many times as he needed to.

He never stopped stroking Tony’s neck as he leant in and pressed a chaste kiss to Tony’s mouth. Tony grabbed his other elbow, as if to steady himself, right above the shield straps.

“Okay,” he said later. “We rebuild. Okay.”

Steve wrapped his arm around Tony, so that the shield was behind him, protecting him, and smiled.

III.

Steve stretched on the bed, enjoying the moment of evening laziness he didn’t get to have very often. He was on top of the covers, the soft pyjama pants and a blue t-shirt that Tony had stolen from him and Steve had stolen back enough to keep him warm. 

In the Avengers Mansion, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark had separate rooms. They met in the library, most often. In the first Avengers Tower, Steve still had his room, even after he’d started spending more time in Tony’s bed than his own. 

This wasn’t the case for the new Avengers Tower. They had one bedroom from the start, because they meant to see the future _together_.

As if on cue, Tony walked in, completely naked, his hair still damp from the shower and curling around his face. Steve looked him up and down appreciatively. 

Tony cocked an eyebrow and sauntered to the bed, making sure Steve got a good look at all his assets. Steve had seen him naked years before they kissed for the first time on the Helicarrier, but he never got over how beautiful Tony was, lean and slender but surprisingly strong. The RT set in his chest reminded that this was Iron Man—as if anyone could ever forget. And on his neck, hanging low just over the top of the RT, were Steve’s dogtags, a proof and a promise: he was Steve’s, and Steve was his. 

“Hi there,” Tony said, climbing on the bed and lying down next to Steve, curling into his side. He clearly didn’t mind being naked next to a clothed Steve as he settled with his head on Steve’s chest, over his heart. 

“You’re getting my t-shirt wet,” Steve told him.

“Mm,” Tony said. “Technically it’s my t-shirt.” He tapped on Steve’s arm, and Steve obliged him, put his hand on the nape of Tony’s neck and held him. Tony murmured something incoherent and happy.

“You too,” Steve answered, because he could guess what Tony said.

After a moment like this, Tony rolled fully on top of Steve, looked down at him and kissed him. Steve replied in kind, taking it slow and easy. He usually was more patient when he didn’t have to peel Tony out of his clothes first. He could take his time, make Tony incoherent and needy.

He pressed Tony down to his body with his hand on the small of his back as he rolled his hips up. 

“I,” Tony gasped, and Steve kissed him, not letting him finish, but Tony was stubborn, “I made myself ready in the shower.”

It took Steve’s brain a moment to process his statement, a moment longer to question _just how was Tony so calm until now_ , and then to decide _none of it mattered because Steve was very much not patient anymore._

He flipped them around, trapped Tony under his body weight.

Tony was grinning up at him, obviously pleased with himself, and yeah, Steve would always accept the challenge. He’d make Tony beg yet tonight.

(Tony probably counted on it.)


End file.
